


letters to a would-be lover

by pyreios



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:22:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 14,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25305955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyreios/pseuds/pyreios
Summary: i accidentally orphaned all my works so if u see this twice please interact with this one ithis is just 2 funky dragon age ocshanna belongs to @crowsha on insta
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

_Heard muttered at an altar of Andraste in 9:41 Dragon in the Chantry of Kirkwall by a large Qunari:_

I do not think I am a religious man. My people’s faith is one I have never known, and that of you and the Maker is too human for my comfort. I feel out of place, leaning in front of your statue while sisters and mothers of your faith stare at me so alien. But- I need guidance. Or counsel, or help, or just someone to listen. Anyone to listen……

[ _The next few sentences are jumbled, drowned out by a sister’s hymn as she carries about her chores.]_

There is a man named Hanna. And he is something of the stars, I think. Something spectacular.... There is a man named Hanna, and I think he believes in you. So I come to you to tell you he has consumed every waking thought I may have. This… This consumption, this feverish longing- I don’t know what it means. I don’t know what I want it to mean, what I’m allowed to have it mean. We dance, something so steadfast yet clumsy, so very entangled and yet the distance between us is so stark. We dance, but it is around each other. Never with each other. And I… I would do most anything for this man. This Hanna Trevelyan. 

If I had stayed in the Qun, I don’t know where I would be. I grew up free, and yet I have never felt so unburdened than that of when he says my name. It’s a terrifying thought, that of not knowing him. That of being apart from him. There is something about him I cannot get enough of, something that leaves my heart aching, my mind yearning- I could be content to spend my days sat at our campfire, watch as the fire washes across his skin and the moonlight weave ribbons in his hair..

[ _The next line is unintelligible. The Qunari’s voice has gone quiet, but he seems to be praying harder.]_

Andraste, I don’t know if I believe that you may be the Maker’s queen. I don’t know if I believe in the Maker. But I believe in Hanna, and I beg of you only one thing; let Hanna be happy. _Please_ , if there is anyone or anything out there that is listening: _Let Hanna Be Happy_. I don’t care if I am of that equation, or if the equation is only answered whence I am gone but- whatever the outcome, whatever the lead up, I ask- This is my only plea; Dear Maker, just let him be happy. 


	2. how could i deny you?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A letter found unsent in the Lowtown tavern The Hanged Man of Kirkwall, dated 9:41 Dragon:

Dear Tala, 

We’ve gotten a room, today. To stay at. Kirkwall is a quaint place, I have come to see. There’s so many humans, and so many mages - I am the only ‘Quanari’ I have met. The only of my kind. I wonder if it bothers Hanna, sometimes. I am so wholly unhuman- I am so much taller than him, so brutish- my eyes are unnatural. My hair is too white. I have never once thought about my inhumanness, but I find myself contemplating it often now. I don’t know if it bothers Hanna. I hope it does not bother him.

Sometimes, I feel out of place. Or that people find me threatening, like if they look at me wrong I will draw a sword and conscript them to the Qun. Or, sometimes a Templar’s gaze will catch on my hands, or linger on my back, and I wonder if they _know_. Hanna doesn’t seem to mind. At least, he doesn’t say anything... All of it. All of me. The height, the strength, the horns and the magic and the displacement- he does not mention it. He doesn’t complain. 

I’m writing this from a table in the tavern. The ale isn’t good- it’s watered down, sour and bitter and I can’t stomach it but… I haven’t been able to stomach much when in Hanna’s presence. I asked him to order something to eat. It will be stale, I know. This bar isn’t known for its service, but it’s lively and it’s warm. 

It’s warm.

Hanna is talking to the barkeep, something very soft and distracted. He looks disinterested, but the barkeep continues talking. I think… He looks nice like this. My chest hurts to think like that. He looks nice like this, and I want to give him everything. I have grown up with the feeling of magic in my veins, and yet nothing is as sweet as his eyes as they meet mine across the bar, the smile he sends my way as he gestures subtly and apologetically to the barkeep who just keeps talking. 

There’s an off-duty Templar in the corner who keeps trying to find my eyes. I do not look at him. I wonder if he saw me, the other day, when I showed the elf boy how I can craft a snowflake out of thin air. I hope he didn’t. The gallows are no place for me. 

Hanna follows the Chantry, but my magic does not seem to cause him distress. He doesn’t… ware away from me. I try not to use it around him, regardless. It scares me to do so. Like if I use my magic around him, it will break what we have. All plausible deniability will go out the window. Hanna is not this type of man, but still, I am scared. Humans think mages as monsters. The Qun think us as dangerous tools. Tala, I love my magic, but for him I would never use it again. He’s a good man. He won’t make it come to that. There’s something thrilling about using magic. Something that leaves me wanting _more_ , wanting _more_ , wanting _more._ I’ve come to find that Hanna is a lot like Magic. I want more. Want to know more, see more, hear more. 

I told you once, that I wanted to know him. That I wanted him to know me back. And I find that this is still true no matter how much I learn. 

There was only one bed in the room we are renting. When we slept, we shared the bed, no matter that my legs bent off the edge, or that I took up too much space, or that we still managed inches of space between us that neither could grasp. When I woke, he was disentangling himself from me. It seemed that in the night we had come together, and he was pointedly refusing to look at me as he crawled from under my arms. I had asked him one simple bequest- I asked him “stay?” and he told me “how could I deny you?” It was an hour longer of his warmth, of a closeness I did not know I craved. We haven’t talked about it since. I don’t know if I want to.

I’m scared, I think, of knowing whether or not he feels similar. Whatever it is that I feel. Does he feel a similar ache in his chest, I wonder? The yearning of a soul? Does he crave the closeness, cherish the smiles as I do? I don’t think it is my own feelings that scare me, Dear sister. I think instead it is his own that do, that leave me wary and unknown. I know that I feel these things for him, resign myself to feel this way and cherish all good that comes of it. But I wonder- I worry- if I speak up will it all go away?

Best regards,

Your Brother,

Kar’aas Anaan


	3. if you would let me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A letter found left in a tavern room of The Hanged Man in Kirkwall’s Lowtown, dated 9:41 Dragon:

~~Dear Hanna,~~

~~Hanna,~~

~~Hanna Trevalyan,~~

~~Dea~~

Dearest (?) Hanna,

You’ll never receive this letter, and for that I am sorry. Or maybe I am not. It doesn’t affect you, but it affects me to my deepest core. I’ve been writing this for days. When I talk to you, and think of something I do not say, I tuck it away in my heart and write it down. This letter is composed of scraps of paper, of the way my heart beats in my chest when your fingers brush my wrist, the way I wonder if this is some cruel joke by whoever is out there, listening, shaping, whether it be the Maker himself or our own destinies. I think that it’s not fair- I cannot decipher what it is I feel, and yet I know every word I long to say. I am blinded, but my soul sees, I am muted, but my heart sings.

I wonder idly sometimes, what do you think of me? When you see me, what is it that you feel? When I talk, what is it that you learn? I have never wanted to be so known by a person, but I think I would like to spend years just letting you know me, and getting to know you in return. It’s unfair that we don’t have that time- it’s unfair I don’t know how long we have together. If you’d let me, I’d stay with you forever. I’d follow you to the ends of Thedas and back. I’d follow you even beyond that, Into the fade where my dreams lie, and where the sky rips itself apart. I’d follow you anywhere should you only ask. You only need to ask. 

I don’t know what it is I want to say to you- nothing, yet everything. I want to ask you to stay with me. I want to ask you to ask me to stay. I want to feel your fingers around my own- I want to memorize the color of your eyes. And I can’t have that, and it hurts- I can’t have it. And maybe that’s why you haven’t said anything, even though I see the softness your eyes gather when you look at me, or feel your fingers brush along my wrist when I pass you something. I want to cry everytime I look at you, because I know it will never be enough. Because I know there’s too much devastation, and there’s too much broken. This world is no place to kindle something we cannot promise to finish. But.

Should you ask me to, I would start it in a heartbeat. I would lay down my concerns and put my weariness to rest. I would throw my caution to the wind, should you ask me to. I would do anything. Please just ask, for I am so tired of caution and waiting and never-just-right moments. I’m so tired of the end of the world tearing me apart even though this should be the time to _live_. I am tired of being such a coward when it comes to you, Hanna Trevelyan.

Please, just ask me. 

And whatever it is, the answer will be yes.

~~Love,~~

~~From,~~

~~Regards???~~

~~Best Wi~~

Yours, (if only you would let me,)

Kar’aas Anaan Adaar


	4. i love you i love you i love you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A letter tucked neatly in a tal vashoth’s pocket, dated 9:41 Dragon

Hanna.

I told you something, three days ago. It is the only thing I can think about. It’s claws up my memory and leaves my chest aching, and I think I may cry at the way goosebumps fall across my flesh and the odd feeling I get when you refuse to meet my eyes. Oh Hanna, I want to cry so badly.

So very badly. 

You found me when I screamed. It was lowtown bandits, I think, that hurt me. They ambushed me when I left the Hanged Man- fresh air, I had told you, and then they came out of nowhere- I wasn’t prepared, and my staff had been left in our room. And they hurt me, stole what little I had on me. Then you came running, and all I could see was your face, haloed by the smudged sky as my vision swam. 

You looked so worried- your eyebrows had that pinched look they always somehow had, and your hands were stained red as they pressed against my chest. You were saying something, I think, but I couldn’t hear you- I just wanted you to be okay again. I didn’t want you to be sad. And so I pressed my fingertips against your cheek until your eyes found mine, however out of focus they were. There was blood on your cheek, stained from my hand. You just stared, tears caught welled in your eyes. 

“Don’t worry,” I told you, and you scoffed. Or maybe it was a sob? I can’t remember. You told me that you had to worry- one of us had to worry. What was there to worry about, when you were there with me? I hadn’t registered that I was bleeding out- I had never been this hurt before, but then again I had never been so relaxed as to let my guard down this much. 

“I love you,” I had told you, and you sobbed. The tears were tracking down your face, and I clumsily tried to catch them as they fell. I just smeared more blood across your face. “Don’t say that,” You had told me, and your voice sounded heartbreakingly desperate. 

I don’t remember much after that. Do you remember more? Would you tell me if I asked?

I woke up in our room, and you were sleeping in the chair across the room. Why weren’t you in the bed? Why was it so cold? Why did my chest ache, both familiar and so foreign? And then I remembered, and that’s when everything changed.

Everything just fucking changed. 

We haven’t talked about it, but what is there to talk about? 

Kar’aas Anaan Adaar.


	5. please miss me too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tear-stained letter found on a nightstand in Kirkwall’s Lowtown Hanged Man, dated 9:41 Dragon

Hanna,

I’m so tired.

Dear Maker, I am so _fucking_ tired that I’ll use his name in vain despite not beleiveing in his asshole schemes. Everything good I have comes to an end, and It seems that this was one of them- I miss you. Maker’s _breath_ do I miss you. Just… everything. The casual touches, the easy smiles, when you’d catch me staring in the warm light, and lower your voice to ask me how I was doing…

Hanna, I miss you. 

If I could change what I said- if I could take it back? I would- I would to have what we had before, because this…. This distance, this tension, the miles of space between us, unable to be breached? I can’t handle it. I miss what we had before. I miss being your friend. I can’t take back the meaning. I’m too far deep for that. But the words I would have never spoken if it means i could still see your smile in the mirror as you brush your hair. 

I don’t know what to do, Hanna. And I don’t know how to ask you. We barely talk anymore, and It drives me crazy. It leaves me aching and hurting and alone. I shouldn’t have told you those words- I was foolish to think they’d calm you, foolish to think you would reciprocate. And why would you? I am naive. Twelve years your younger. Isn’t that foolish enough? And you are a human- I am not even _that,_ nor even an elf, nor a dwarf- I am a Tal Vashoth, and so very different than. I am a mage, and you are a chantry man. How had I convinced myself this could ever work? That we could ever work? How had I convinced myself that my feelings had been reciprocated?  
I think, Dear Hanna, that the most foolish thing of all, is that had you reciprocated, none of that would have mattered to me at all.

It still wouldn’t.

I can’ hide from myself what it is I feel for you, and no longer can I hide it from you.

So I resign myself to live in this limbo, unloved unreciprocated, as you distance yourself from me once again.

It feels like we’re strangers again.

And that is what hurts most of all.

I still love you,

But it hurts.

Kar’aas Anaan Adaar. 


	6. let me be better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A scrap of paper found battered on a heavily walked road to Tantervale from Kirkwall in 9:41 Dragon:

I am made for heavy hands and bloodied teeth.

The clashing of anger and fury and rage.

I am made for knives and daggers and swords.

I am made for fighting and thrashing

And raw anger,

Bloodied cuts upon bloodied faces

I am made for things I am not.

I was certainly not made for the magic that courses through my veins,

That sways me, 

shapes me, 

Creates me.

I am not made for the softness of my hands, 

The softness of my body, 

The errant kindness of my smile when I see your face.

I am not made for the beating of my heart when

Your hand finds mine.

I am not made for the thought of your voice

Saying my name in a prayer,

Or watching as your hands trace the familiar letters I

Have known since infancy.

Not made for the press of your forehead upon my own

As you beg me to stay alive.

I am not made

For the moment you might kiss me,

A break in the resolve of our intertwined minds.

I am made for hating you.

I am not made for loving you.

Though my blood screams

Fight and

Thrash and

Raw

My heart whispers

Magic and

Gentleness

And Love. 


	7. breathless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> written in a spelltome left haphazardly on a rarely-traveled back road 9:41 Dragon:

he kissed me.


	8. if it meant youre by my side id stay here all night

He’s watching Hanna order something to eat from across the bar. There’s something warm in his chest. Things have been…. Good, lately. Hanna turns to look at him and smiles from his spot at the bar. Kar’aas smiles back, and his heart aches. 

“Excuse me?” Kar’aas turns to the voice, smiling surprised at a woman who’s leaned across her table to tap him on his broad shoulder. “You two make a nice couple.” She continues. Kar’aas can feel his face heating up, and can’t help himself from glancing to Hanna again. Are they a couple? He doesn’t know. He hopes so… he wants to be. 

“What?” He asks, eloquently. The woman rests a hand on his shoulder, warm and kind and sweet. 

She points towards Hanna, who is talking to the bartend as he writes something down. “That’s your boyfriend over there at the bar, right? I’m a frequent patron and I’ve seen you two here the past couple days… It’s nice, in times like these, to see love.”

Kar’aas utters a thank you, and stares heavy into his cup on the table. It’s been.. A couple weeks at most since he and Hanna had first kissed. It’s.. things are still weird, in the way things are always weird but. There’s more touching. Hands through his hair and resting gently on his shoulder, kissing in soft moments. Sometimes, when Kar’aas is sitting and Hanna is eye-level, he will kiss his cheek before resuming his previous activity.

Does he love Hanna, he wonders? Yes, he thinks, he truly does. He had known since the day Hanna had found him beaten and bloody outside the Hanged Man, and he loves him still now. He wonders if Hanna loves him- if Hanna may ever love him.

He hopes so.

He hopes so.

“Kar’aas?” He is startled out of his heartache by a gentleness that causes his heart to sing. Hanna sets a small bowl on the table that’s filled with bread rolls, dried meat, and dried fruit. “Sorry it’s not much- I wasn’t sure how hungry you are and the main cook is already asleep.”

“It’s no problem,” Kar’aas replies, gentle and easy. “I- thank you. I appreciate it.” He takes a roll from the basket, and digs his thumbs into the top. He watches how easy it is to tear apart, how much it reminds him of the very first night he met Hanna- the human man drunk and sad and sitting on the dirty ground outside, and Kar’aas who had taken interest, who had sat beside him and split his only a loaf of bread- stale and cold from days of travel. They have barely been apart since. Kar’aas offers half to Hanna, who looks at him as if he has hung the stars.

Kar’aas begins to cry. He doesn’t mean to but he- it’s been rough. So much before and so much during. Nights laying inches away from Hanna, to kissing him good morning because he _felt_ like it, days of worrying over whether Hanna will die from injuries taken from their last battle, to cold witching hours sure he would die without having seen Hanna’s face once more. There’s….. There’s just so _much._ He loves him, he… his heart may burst.

“Are you alright?” Hanna asks frantically, hands hovering, and Kar’aas takes them from the air in his own, and settles their intertwined hands against his chest. He’s looking at Hanna with tears in his eyes and the softest smile he can muster.

“A woman talked to me while you were grabbing the food,” he starts, and Hanna extracts one of his hands to hold the side of Kar’aas’ jaw. Kar leans into the feeling, and laughs a little.

Just a little.

It’s wet and ugly, but Hanna keeps looking at him with all the fondness and concern in the world. He doesn’t know if he can bare for Hanna to look at him with so much emotion for much longer.

“She asked if you were my boyfriend,” Kar’aas admits, and Hanna goes stiff, tenses just a fraction enough to be noticeable. Kar’s smile dies, as he watches Hanna’s eyes. He tries to let go of Hanna’s hand, so scared that he may have ruined hat progress they both had made towards openness, to trust, but Hanna’s hand slips from his jaw and both tighten around Kar’aas’ hands.

“What did you say?” Hanna asks in one breath, but it feels as if there’s so much _urgency_. Hanna’s eyes spark and his eyebrows are furrowed- the scar across his mouth pulls at his lips. 

Kar’aas didn’t say anything- didn’t know _what_ to say, didn’t want to say, just wanted to live in a world of his daydreams where he loved Hanna and Hanna loved him and they were together.

_Together._

“I don’t… I…” 

What would Hanna say, he thinks, if Kar’aas told he was all he’d ever wanted? That he could spend the rest of his days basking in Hanna’s light, intruding on his life, following him to the ends of thedas and back, and he would be Happy? That he would be content?

“Kar’aas,” Hanna says, and he has gotten so _close._ “Please. What did you tell her?” 

Kar’aas refuses to look into his eyes, refuses to see warm brown shining against firelight, or the crinkle of his crows feet. “Nothing, I… I told her thank you. I didn’t know what to say.”

Hanna’s hands gte impossibly tighter around his own. Hanna’s face is so close now- he’s standing, hovering near him. “You didn’t deny her?”

“No. I don’t- I am not sure I could have beared to,” he admits, and Hanna grins.

He grins. 

And then he kisses him. 

There’s sunlight threatening to burst from Kar’aas’ chest, an ever-growing adoration that has sprouted in his heart and curls around his lungs, his fingertips, his cheeks as he smiles against the kiss. He knows it’s making it so much more difficult- but he does not care, _Maker_ he does not care.

“Good,” Hanna says, and as a second though adds, “I don’t think I could have beared to either.”


	9. Say it again and again and again

It’s been four days in the same ruddy tavern/inn in the small town off the beaten path they had been travelling. It’s been a nice break from camping on the ground, and Kar’aas was delighted to finally have a bed. His boyfriend had been, too, grumbling about the hard packed dirt under his back and the chill of the night that had just refused to leave. Also; baths. Kar’aas had cried when he took a bath two nights ago, just content to finally be _clean_. 

So, yes. The tavern isn’t great, the ale tastes like muddy water and the food is edible at best. Service is shoddy, people stare at Kar’aas, the beds are lumpy, and Kar’aas’ legs hang off of them. But it’s an _inn_ , and that’s as much as Kar’aas could ask for. 

It had been four nights since they paid their stay, and they have three more nights paid ahead. A week off the road, to recuperate and rest and stay huddled in their rooms or take strolls around the town. It’s nice. It’s _really_ nice. During the day they nurse a meal on a tavern bench, or visit the small market the town has lining it’s street. At night Hanna braids Kar’aas’ hair with bow-callused fingers and holds his face in his hands. They sleep in one bed, Kar’aas curled protectively around Hanna, goodnights at the tip of their tongues as their breathing aligns. They’ve long since stopped attributing their intertwined closeness to cold nights- it’s now just affection, warm hearts and hands. Wanting to be close.

It’s on their fifth night that Kar’aas finds Hanna reading on the bed, eyes lazily roaming whatever page of whatever he is reading. Kar’aas takes the book from his hands and replaces the bookmark, setting it carefully on the nightstand. Hanna looks up at him, and Kar’aas is all honey-dripping smiles and kind eyes. He climbs onto the bed, knees bracketing Hanna’s thighs as his forearms brace by Hanna’s head. His hair fails like rainwater down his shoulders and curtains Hanna’s face, a private moment heralded by the golden light that shines through his curls. 

“Hi,” Kar’aas breathes, and Hanna snorts. This foolish, _foolish_ man lifts his hands up to cradle Kar’aas’ face, presses his thumbs into the dimples that his smile made way for, fingers scratching gently at the silver stubble unshaven on his jaw. Hanna is smiling, and how wonderful is that? The flutter in his chest, the flush on his cheeks and rising on his ears- Kar’aas makes him feel drunk in the way that poetry waxes, in the way that he thinks the Maker must have loved Andraste- enchanted, enthralled, engrossed. 

“Hey there,” Hanna responds. One of his hands leaves Kar’aas’ face, tangles with sand-silver hair that curls ‘round his fingers and shines blindingly against his skin. He is more beautiful then even Andraste herself could ever be- so enchantingly divine; so heartachingly mundane.

“What were you reading?” Kar’aas asks as his head dips lower, nudging his nose against Hanna’s own. He can see his reflection in Hanna’s eyes, looks farther until he’s counting the number of different browns, how nuanced and wonderful they are. His eyes are so gentle; Kar’aas thinks he could count the colors all day.

“You didn’t look? You had the book in your hands,” Hanna points out. Kar’aas scoffs, bonking Hanna’s forehead with his own.

“You’re insufferable, you know.” Kar moves his arm just enough, just so his fingers can curl into dark hair, marvel at the gray that threads his soft curls. Kar’aas likes the grey in his hair. It’s another thing about Hanna- another small detail he holds close to his heart, as precious as gold. 

Hanna snorts, pushes his nose against Kar’aas’. “Oh, believe me, I know,” he teases. The corners of his eyes crinkle, and his lips thin in such an endearing way as he smiles. “Don’t know why you put up with me, really,” he continues. Kar’aas’ nails scratch against Hanna’s scalp.

“Because I love you,” he murmurs. Hanna’s eyes widen, and his hand stills from where it curls in and out of white-blond hair. Hanna tenses, and Kar’aas seems to _realise-_

He sits back and hurries himself off the bed. He didn’t mean- he just- is it too _soon_ , is it too _much_ , what if-

“I’m sorry, oh my god I don’t even know what came over me- I mean I just… I’m sorry, if that’s too much, I mean! What was I thinking, really, that’s _a lot_ to just dump on a person I-”

“Kar’aas,” A soft voice. It sounds wet, cracking along the edges. Kar’aas is still walking, pacing, talking, he needs to _move_ , he doesn’t want to ruin anything, dear _Maker_ please let it go okay. He _needs_ this, needs Hanna, whatever Hanna will give him. “ _Dulanmaa,”_ Hanna tries, again. A name once uttered to him, a secret so bared and broken and raw. Kar’aas stops breathing. He turns, and there’s tears in his eyes as bright as crystals, heavy against the muted lilac of his iris. “Say it again?” Hanna asks, and he sounds distant. Wet and tearied. 

Time feels like it’s stopped, unflowing and frozen against the atmosphere of the homely tavern room. “What?” Kar’aas asks, so taken aback.

“Please,” Hanna says, and it sounds like a plea.

Kar’aas begins moving forward, back towards the bed where Hanna is sitting, back pressed against the headboard and eyes staring so open into Kar’aas’ face. Kar’aas braves a hand on Hanna’s cheek, which he leans into. Kar’s chest clenches, all adoration and gentleness and _love_. 

Love.

“I love you, Hanna,” Kar’aas says, Hanna’s name a whisper on his lips. Hanna’s hands shake as they cup Kar’aas’ jaw as he sits down across from Hanna on the bed. Hanna sniffles, and there’s a sort of ugliness to the crying, to the scrunching of the face and the sniffling of snot and the growing puffiness of red around Hanna’s eyes, and.

Kar’aas loves him so _much_ it _hurts._

There are tears on Hanna’s cheeks, and Kar’aas wonders if he’s crying as well, a river of emotion, of feeling and confession and long-awaited conversation. “Do you mean it?”

Kar’aas laughs- or he sobs, he’s not sure. The definition and difference is muddled in his mind, not enough and too much all at once. Everything. “Of course I do, you stupid, _stupid_ man.” Kar’aas thinks he’s smiling. “Since Kirkwall- since that fight, when you found me, I-” Kar’aas dips his head, buries his face in the curve of Hanna’s neck. Hanna releases Kar’aas’ face and presses a hand between his shoulder blades, winds one into his hair, _holding him, holding him, holding him._

“You’re serious?” 

“You…” Kar’aas’ voice dies. He re-words. Finds words, makes words, creates words. “You are everything to me, Hanna,” Kar’aas smiles against Hanna’s skin, still crying, still gross and wet and snotty and contorted. “I have spent my whole life trying to find where I’m meant to be. And I’ve _found it,_ Hanna. _It’s you._ By your side.”

Hanna shakes his head, sniffling. “You can’t just waste your life following me around, Kar’aas. There’s so much out there. You’re so _young_ , I can’t… I can’t take that from you. You have a family, a _life_ out in the Approach,” Hanna pleads, but his resolve is breaking. Maker, he just wants to be _selfish,_ keep him to himself like sunshine incarnate, bottled up to his heart and beating for _him._

“My life could _never_ be wasted if it’s spent with you, _kadan_ ,” Kar’aas says. “I _found_ you. I won’t give that up. I care for my sister, but I have never cared for anyone as much as I do you, Hanna Jalair-Trevelyan. Why would I ever give that up?” It’s funny, how easy pretty words come to him when Hanna asks. He’s his muse, or his light, or the moon to his sun, or whatever other words poets use to describe something so indescribable. Should Hanna call, Kar’aas will answer. He’ll _always_ answer.

“You are the best thing that has happened to me,” Hanna says, and his arms tighten around Kar’aas. “I want so badly to be selfish. To keep you in my life.” He sounds weak, staticy around the edges, spent and tired and burned out and so _adoring_.

“Be selfish,” Kar’aas urges. He pleads.

“I love you,” Hanna says, more a prayer then a confession. Kar’aas nips at Hanna’s neck, and then he pulls his head up until he is eye-level. Equal ground and Equal footing and Equal feelings. Consuming and overpowering and _devouring._ It’s… wonderful, really. That there’s this moment, this speck of time, in which Hanna loves Kar’aas and Kar’aas loves Hanna. Kar’aas hopes that every Kar’aas has a Hanna to hold dear, that every Hanna has a Kar’aas to adore. 

“You foolish man,” Kar’aas breathes, ghosting over Hanna’s lips. “I love you, too.”

And how lovely it is to kiss him, how much it feels like home.


	10. a morning spent thinking i never want this to end

“Kar’aas?” Hanna pats at the arm wound around his waist, voice just quiet enough not to break the atmosphere settled around them like a blanket. “Kar’aas. Wake up, you big lug,” Hanna tries lifting Kar’aas’ arm but every part of him is heavy and strong, and he has Hanna in a death grip. “Seriously, I need to get up,” Hanna murmurs, and tries twisting until he’s facing Kar’aas.

Kar’aas looks nice when he’s sleeping, that much Hanna has found out. And how lucky he feels to have had the _chance_ to find out. His hair is braided down his back, stray curls slipping from Hanna’s own handywork. Hanna likes looking at him. He looks younger when he’s asleep too, more his age. Less weathered by the shit he’s been forced to go through. His jawline is softer, and the premature wrinkles smooth out. 

Hanna raises a hand, brushes his thumb along the protrusion of Kar’aas’ cheekbone, his silver eyelashes skimming the tips of his fingers. “If you could wake up, that’d be great,” Hanna urges again, then pats his hand a little roughly against Kar’aas’ face. Not enough to hurt, but hopefully enough to wake him.

“What do you waaaaaaant,” Kar’aas rasps, trying to burrow closer to Hanna. There’s sleep in the edge of his voice and the corner of his eyes as he blinks awake, the sharpness of lilac eyes continuously stunning. Kar’aas’ eyes seem to focus, and then he’s smiling, something bright and blinding. “Good morning.” His face is half-mashed into the bedroll and his eyes are creased in a smile. “I love you,” he says- his favorite greeting as of late.

“As much as I’d like to kiss you right now I _really_ need to get up and use the facilities, and your giant arm is keeping me from doing so. Also you have morning breath,” Hanna adds as an afterthought. Kar’aas snorts and sits up, stretching his arms far above his head. Hanna rolls up and over, grabs a change of clothes, and leaves quietly through the door to their room.

Kar’aas busies himself in changing his clothes, rifling through his bag for something to wear. It’s a little warmer than it has been, and he revels in this. It’s been a while since he could wear his favorite tunic, softened from years of washings and just the _perfect_ color of plum with gold trimmings. It had been a gift from his sister when he had turned 18, and he loves wearing it. It’s comforting, but it had been too cold as of late to warrant wearing it. 

Kar’aas sits on the bed to lace up his boots. The door swings open, then shut, and Hanna smiles when he catches Kar’s eyes. He walks closer, brushing a stray curl behind Kar’aas’ ear, and then pressing a quick kiss to his temple. “You look nice,” Hanna says, and then moves around him, crawling onto the other side of the bed. He reaches over to grab the comb on the nightstand, and reaches into the small drawer for the strip of maroon ribbon Hanna had gifted him three towns ago. 

Hanna settles behind Kar’aas and unbraids his hair. Kar’aas leans into the touch as Hanna scratches against his scalp. “It’s my favorite shirt,” Kar’aas grins. Hanna starts running the comb through Kar’aas’ hair, fingers undoing the worst of the tangles. Kar’aas thinks moments like this must be his favorite- quiet early mornings with the sun shining streams of gold through the curtains and Hanna doing up his hair for the day. It had not been that long ago that Kar’aas used to do his hair himself, but Hanna had braided his hair once on a whim, and since then it’s settled into a routine. Neither ask, but both indulge. 

“It’s nice on you,” Hanna’s voice is barely louder than a murmur. He splits Kar’aas’ hair into two parts, and begins braiding the ribbon into his soft curls. “You look really pretty,” He says, and Kar’aas nudges his head back, so he can look up into Hanna’s eyes. 

“You’re pretty.” He says it as a statement, a fact of life. And it is, to him. The sky is blue, Hanna is a human, Kar’aas is a mage, and Hanna is pretty. Hanna flushes, and extracts a hand from the braid to push Kar’aas’ head up to an upright position.

“You’re gonna ruin your hair, you oaf,” Hanna grumbles, and continues braiding. Kar’aas purrs, and Hanna’s heart _hurts_. It’s not the first time he’s heard it, but there’s something so wonderful about Kar’aas taking such simple pleasure in Hanna’s hands in his hair. 

“Love you, too,” Kar’aas responds, a little sing-songy hum. Hanna gently smacks the side of his head- not hard, but a present weight, and Kar’aas’ chest rumbles with laughter. It’s soft, and sweet, and Hanna feels something flip over in his chest. Hanna ties the leather elastic around the braid’s end, and he softens, all warm and kind and tender. 

“Yeah,” Hanna says, a semblance of a whisper. “Love you.” 

Kar’aas holds his hands together and whispers something off the tip of his tongue. There’s a moment of blue, of coldness through Hanna’s chest, and then there are snowflakes of unmelting ice settled in his hair, stark and beautiful and stunning.

“I’m glad,” Hanna says, a little breathless, “That you do things like that around me.” Kar’aas reaches around for Hanna’s hand, and pulls it forwards towards his lips. He kisses the open palm, and then the knuckles of his hands, and just hums, something low and soft and sweet. 

Kar’aas leans against Hanna’s chest, and then straightens up, full of energy and life and something _smug_. “I think,” Kar’aas says, twisting to face Hanna, “You owe me a kiss.”

“You haven’t brushed your teeth,” Hanna grouses, and Kar’aas kisses the side of his face. One of his pointed ears flick, and He gets up off the bed with a _slightly_ exaggerated huff. He stretches his arms over his head again, fingertips brushing against the ceiling of the inn room. What an absolute show-off with his unfair height privileges.

“Oh, my dearest _kadan_ , you wound me ever so much.” He grins, though, and stretches to touch his toes once before heading towards the door. “I’ll be right back. _Do_ wait up for me.”

“Oh, like I’m gonna pack up and leave you here all alone,” Hanna replies, but Kar’aas is already out the door with a hearty laugh trailing his presence. Hanna gets up off the bed and walks over to the small writing desk shoved against the corner of the room. There’s a stack of papers bound with white string nestled at the farthest edge of the desk, hidden by the shadows of a shelf. Hanna reaches for it and pulls the stack out, surprised when his name in an ever so familiar scrawl greets him. He…. _would_ wait for Kar’aas to get back to ask what it’s about, but his curiosity gets the best of him, and calloused fingers pull the knot undone. 

The first thing he reads is addressed to him. They’re _all_ addressed to him. He reads through, different moments in time he _remembers_ and _relives_ through the perspective he has wondered about for ages. He gets to a letter dated back from when they were staying in Kirkwall’s Hanged Man, and his heart does some odd funny things when he reads it. It had been after he found Kar’aas bloodied in the street, the very first time he had ever told him he loved him. A letter about Kar’aas being hurt after he distanced himself and.. He wants to kick himself. How hurt Kar’aas sounds in the letter, how damaged… he _aches_ and feels like crying.

The door opens, and Hanna crosses the room, pulling tugging Kar’aas down by his shoulders and kissing him, warm and sad and it’s _gross_ because Kar’aas is too tall and he only catches his bottom lip, and he thinks he’s crying a little all tear-stained and angry at himself, and their noses aren’t fitting right and their teeth clack together and.

And it’s perfect. It’s them. 

Kar’aas pulls back and rests his forehead against Hanna’s, hunched over to reach his height. “Hey,” his voice is so _gentle._ “Are you okay?” He asks, hand holding the underside of Hanna’s jaw so _delicately._

“I’m sorry,” Hanna says, but doesn’t explain. Kar’aas lifts his head to press a lingering kiss to Hanna’s brow. 

“What for?”

“For being an ass.”

“You’re always an ass,” Kar’aas jokes, but then, “I love you.”

“I love you.”

Kar’aas moves his hand from Hanna’s jaw to his hair, smoothing it down and staring so warmly into his eyes.

Hanna thinks; how did I manage to keep the sun all to myself? 

and

Kar’aas thinks; I have never loved anyone like I love you.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?” Kar’aas asks. Hanna refuses to meet his eyes, staring at the ground between their feet.

“I’m sorry- the letters on the desk- the ones with my name. I didn’t realise that you were _hurting_ , _dulanmaa_. That you felt like that- that I _did_ that.”

Kar’aas laughs, something a little wet-sounding and soft. “Oh, _kadan_.” He kisses the corner of Hanna’s mouth. “We’re together now, yes? And even before then- Hanna, I was just glad to be your friend.”

“You’re dumb,” Hanna laughs through tears he tries to rub away. “I love you.”

“I know,” Kar’aas says, and Hanna is laughing so. It’s a win. It’s a moment or two more of them curled together before he untangles himself and goes rummaging in his pack, on a mission.

“I can’t believe I almost forgot!” Kar’aas pulls out something small, and then holds it out to Hanna. It’s a brown rock, smooth along the edges and ringed with gold and yellow. “It’s the same color of your eyes!” 

Hanna takes it, and stares at it. This stupid, dumb, foolish, _absolutely wonderful_ Qunari. 

“Let’s go get breakfast,” Hanna says, in lieu of a response. He places it in his pocket, though, and reminds himself to pick up a necklace chain in the market today. Kar’aas laces their fingers together and pulls him out the door.

How wonderful it is, to have a morning like this. 

How sweet and good and warm.


	11. should you call i will always answer

Kar’aas is panicking. Or… he _thinks_ he’s panicking, but he’s definitely hyperventilating and he can hear his heartbeat drumming in his ears and he keeps shuddering periodically, full-body shivers that make his heart beat _faster_ and he’s not even _cold_ and Hanna isn’t here because-

Hanna _isn’t here_ because-

_Hanna isn’t here._

Kar’aas drove him off. 

It’s… well…

They don’t fight. Not usually. Small arguments, yes, here and there; petty squabbles that resolve themselves that they _laugh_ about after but they don’t _fight_ , they don’t use cutting words and snapping teeth and snarling faults. They don’t aim to _harm._ That’s not them, or at least that’s not Kar’aas and it’s not Hanna when he’s _with_ Kar’aas and he just can’t understand how badly he _fucked it up_ , how badly _both_ of them fucked it up.

It had started with a scolding.

With Kar’aas getting _hurt_. It wasn’t much; the man was almost three times smaller than Kar’aas, and his daggers were blunt. Just a few scrapes and bruises before the thug was dispatched, but Kar’aas was bleeding and Hanna _hated_ that.

So it started with a scolding, one fueled by worry and heartache and the haunting feeling of blood between fingers and Kar’aas couldn’t _take_ it, not anymore because “ _Stop_ treating me like a _child_ , Hanna.” He shrugged Hanna’s hand off, clumsily wrapping the bandage around his arm one handed. Hanna stared at him, face contorting. 

“What?” Hanna asked, stopping in his tracks. Kar’aas pushed off the counter, refusing to look at him.

“You always do this you-” Kar’aas made a noise low in his throat, grasping in the air for something that is not there. “I get hurt, or I do something that isn’t _smart_ or I make a mistake and you treat me like a _child_ Hanna. I’m not- I know- I know I’m younger than you, okay? But this is… It’s not _fair._ I don’t need scolded. I don’t need you tutting about on your high horse while you tell me off for getting hurt.” Did the room get smaller, then? Did the air constrict? Kar’aas’ chest _hurt_ and Hanna was staring at him with those wide eyes, and then.

And then.

_And then._

“Maybe I wouldn’t treat you like a child if you could act your _age_ for once, Kar’aas. I’m not always going to be around to save your ass. You can’t- It’s not all sunshine and rainbows here. Things are shit, Kar’aas, and I can’t keep _protecting_ you from that.”

Kar’aas _laughed_ then, but it was wrecked and he thinks it may have been hysterical. “ _Protecting me_?” Kar’aas’ fists clench and unclench, and his shoulders compact, curling in on himself. He doesn’t want to be _big_ anymore, not when he feels so small, so meek, he doesn’t _do_ this, he doesn’t _fight_ like this - why can’t he just _stop_? “I never asked you to protect me! You can’t hold that against me!” 

Hanna fixes a heavy stare on him and Kar’aas looks _desperately_ angry, all flushed cheeks and wild eyes, the feral gnashing of teeth. Hanna’s breathing was steady, calm, and Kar’aas wishes that was him. That he could just… be level. That he didn’t feel so torn apart, stuffed back and sewn together at a seam so close to ripping. “Who else if not me?”

Kar’aasw’ hair feels like it’s flying everywhere, caught in his mouth and stuck to the back of his neck in sweat. _Hanna didn’t braid his hair today_ and why should it matter when he’s a grown man who can do his hair his _self_ \- “ _Me,_ Hanna! I can do it myself!”

Hanna grasped handfuls of his own hair then let go over and _over_ , hands pausing in the air, then moving, then pausing, chest heaving as if he was trying to prove a _point,_ as if he was not being _heard, Kar’aas_ doesn’t feel heard either. “You _can’t_! How many times have I saved your life?”  
Kar’aas was fuming- none of it seemed _fair._ “How many times have I found you with a bleeding face and no words to explain how you got there?” Kar’aas was begging for it to stop, for a break in the motions, for the yelling to calm down and for it to go back to how it was _he misses how it was-_ he doesn’t like fighting. It reminds him of his mother and his sister _with_ his mother and he’s angry and sad and _desperate_. “You’re an _ass,_ Hanna! You’re a hypocrite! I.. I try! I’ve never _done_ this before! I’ve never loved anyone. I’ve never _had_ this and I’m trying but I…” But he _does_ love him and he’s terrified. Of course he’s terrified. What if this meant no more mornings spent curled up together, no more whispered secrets, no more ‘I love you’ and no more ‘I know,’ no more _Hanna._ He’s terrified and he doesn't know how to stop it. He didn’t know how to stop it. They argue sometimes but never like this- never like-

He kept going. 

“I _know_ the world is shit, okay? I fucking _know_ , and I’m trying to do what I can to make it _less_ so and yes! That means possibly trusting people I shouldn’t but apparently you can’t pull your head out of your ass long enough to know that _trust isn’t inherently bad!_ ”

“ _Fuck you,_ ” Hanna seethed, a moment of weakness, and he’d gravitated towards the door. Kar’aas wanted to reach out. 

“I’m not naive. I’m not _stupid_ , Hanna. I know what’s up- I’m a _spy_ for Maker’s sake! I am _tired_ of you treating me like I’m less than you! There’s a difference between caring for someone and belittling them! I’m not some fragile thing!”

“No. _You_ need to know that there’s a difference between trust and dependence, Kar’aas! Blind trust will get you _killed_ , that’s what I’m trying to _tell_ you-”

“But you don’t trust _anyone_ , Hanna! You don’t trust _me,_ and we’re supposed to do that! 

We’re supposed to _trust_ each other and _understand_ each other!”

Hanna stilled, and Kar’aas’ voice rang through the room. “Well. I don’t think we do,” Hanna said, his voice dropping considerably quiet. “I don’t want to argue anymore.” And then he left, door closing behind him. Kar’aas fell on the bed and cried, low sobs that wracked his body and left his breath _short, shorter,_ until he.

Well, he’s where he is now.

Sitting on a bed curled in on himself, trying to curb the erratic breathing that heaves through his chest. He’s not. He’s not angry anymore, doesn’t know if he was _ever_ angry it’s…. It’s been 3 hours and he’s still shoving dry sobs through his body, trying to figure out what went wrong, how it went wrong. Hanna hasn’t returned, and Kar’aas thinks that may be the worst thing of all. 

People fight, he knows that much. There’s too many differences in the world for them not to, but he can’t help the feeling of sick bile in his throat, wishing and wanting that they didn’t have to, that there would _be_ no arguments. He _wants_ it to be sunshine and rainbows. He _wants_ to see good, and he saw _so much_ good in Hanna, _sees_ so much good. Kar’aas misses him. His anger is sad apathy, all worry and terrifying feeling and just being _scared._

He doesn’t know if Hanna will come back. He was. He was mean, they both were, and though short-lived it _stung._ Kar’aas thinks of his mother, of letter ripped up upon contact, thinks of his sister coddling him and her urge to _protect_ and he crumbles because. He understands. Or, at least, he thinks he does. And it wasn’t fair to attack Hanna over it- he was just _worried_. 

But Kar’aas can’t… He can’t feel the weight of worry without feeling flighty, without wanting to write, without feeling a _burden_ and that’s not _fair_ because of course Hanna doesn’t think he’s a burden. Hanna loves him. Or.. loved him. He hopes it’s still the former, so _desperately_ that his heart aches.

He tugs on a coat, a split-second decision, and runs out the door. He doesn’t know where Hanna will be but… he’ll find him. He’ll always find him.

_Should Hanna call, Kar’aas will answer._

He’s not in the tavern below the inn, but that much is to be expected. 

He asks around, but most people do not answer, or glare at him until he moves on. His heart is frantic and he must look one with the _wild_ , but he… He needs to find him. He needs to apologize and they need to **talk.** Whatever… whatever happens. They need to talk. 

Somehow, Kar’aas ends up at the local chantry. It’s small, and the building looks worse for wear. Kar’aas thinks he knows Hanna well enough to guess this may be where he is.. It’s. Common. It’s safe. Kar’aas spends too long outside the door, hand raised to open, frozen in time. And then he thinks about what he said, what Hanna said, and he pushes through, ushering the cold. 

Not many look at him when he enters. A Chantry building is like clockwork. Everyone has a purpose, not to be disturbed. Everyone knows what they’re to do, who they’re to see, what they’re to say. Kar’aas doesn’t know what that’s like, but there’s a calmness in here. Kar’aas can understand partially why Hanna takes comfort in it. Only a little bit, though. He’ll never understand all of it, and that’s okay. He’ll take whatever Hanna will give him about it. If Hanna will give him any more.

A woman looks at him, and he bows his head, slight and unassuming. “Sister,” he greets, and as he passes he can still feel her eyes on the back of his head. Qunari are not often found in Chantries. Qunari are not often _welcome_.

His eyes survey. At the statue of Andraste - he thinks it’s Andraste - there is a man praying. His head is bowed and he’s leaning on the ground. Kar’aas stands, watches frozen. He doesn’t know what to do. If.. if this is a good time. Would there be a good time? Is there ever a good time? He feels like he’s intruding-

And then Hanna’s head raises. 

And he turns his head to catch Kar’aas’ eyes, beckons him forward. As if he knew Kar’aas was there. Like he could turn around, and he’d be waiting there, warm eyes and warm hands and warm heart. 

Should Hanna call, Kar’aas will answer.

“Hi,” Hanna says. Kar’aas leans down, offers a hand.

“Let’s go home,” Kar’aas pleads, soft and heartbroken and tired. “We have some things to talk about.”

“I know,” Hanna says, but he takes his hand. They don’t talk on the walk back to the inn. But they’re hands stay intertwined. Kar’aas thinks it’s an improvement, at least.

Kar’aas settles on the bed, and Hanna takes the chair of the writing desk. “I just. You’re right,” Kar’aas starts, and looks up. “Not about all of it- this. Doesn’t mean you didn’t hurt me. But I know that there are bad things- that the world is crumbling. I see that.” Kar’aas sighs, runs a hand through his hair. “But I need you to know that I’m not a child, Hanna,” His voice wobbles. He’s trying to keep his face level, calm. “I appreciate you taking care of me. I truly do. But I don’t need shielded from the world, and I don’t want you thinking you have to do that for me.”

“Okay,” Hanna breathes, and he picks at the hem of his shirt. “It. Scares me, sometimes, when you do reckless things. When you disregard your life. I understand things are dangerous- especially for you. But I just want you to be careful. To be okay.”

Kar’aas is crying, but of course he’s crying. “I’m sorry,” he says. “For being so angry. For trying to hurt you when I was angry. That wasn’t… It wasn’t okay. It wasn’t great.”

“I do trust,” Hanna says. It’s so stark in the tension that Kar’aas stops. “I trust you. You insinuating… I thought you _knew_ , Kar’aas. I trust you with my life. My heart.”

“I’m sorry,” Kar’aas says, and he’s standing up, crossing the short distance between them.

“I’m sorry,” Hanna replies, and Kar’aas’ heart _cracks_ but it’s _beating_.

“Promise me,” Kar’aas says, and his hands raise to Hanna’s face, cup his jaw, thumbs shaking as they swipe across his cheekbone. “Promise me we’ll communicate. No more bottling these things up- no more yelling and fighting. Promise me, and I’ll promise you.”

“Kar’aas-”

“I’m serious. I can’t keep.. This won’t become our normal. We’ll talk things out. We’ll figure it out together. We’ll _try._ ”

Hanna raises his hands, pulls Kar’aas forwards until they’re foreheads are pressed together. “I’ll try,” he rasps, “I promise.”

“I promise,” Kar’aas echoes. “We still have a lot to talk about,” he adds. 

Hanna smiles, and it’s soft, just barely a tug of his lips. Kar’aas answers it. “I know.”

“I love you,” Kar’aas says.

“I know,” Hanna says, and then remembers. _Communication._ “I love you, too.”

And then he kisses him, soft and sweet and full of promises, of _we’ll talk about it_ , of _I love you_ , of _my heart beats for you_ , of _I’m home._


	12. stay beside me; i promise ill keep holding your hand

Kar’aas falls in love easily. It’s second nature to him. He falls in love with the feel of sand beneath his feet. He falls in love with the kind woman outside the walls of val Royeaux who offers him a flower from her cart. He falls in love with the sound of his sister’s voice as she sings a lullaby she no longer knows the words to. Never for long, is he in love with something. All fleeting, all memories, all experience of the life that pushes through his lungs. 

Kar’aas loves, and time does not change this. 

Kar’aas never _stays_ in love, but here he has found the exception.

Each rule has a loophole, each law has an exception. 

And Hanna.

Hanna is his exception.

And before, Kar’aas has always thought love should be easy. Should be effortless. And it is, because being in love with Hanna is as easy as it is for him to breathe, for him to cast frost from his fingertips, for him to press his fingers to his pulse and feel his heart beating. It’s relationships that are harder, but it’s worth it- Oh, is it worth it.

They don’t always see eye to eye and sometimes words don’t come out right. Sometimes days are bad. Touch is too much or not enough. It’s not perfect, but it might as well be, because He is Hanna’s and Hanna’s is His, and they’re both so wonderfully independent and beautifully entwined. 

For though Kar’aas could live without Hanna, why would he? When being in love with Hanna, being _with_ Hanna, makes things so much easier, the world so much brighter? Why would he when he has known the feeling of Hanna’s fingers through his hair, known the warmth that comes from kissing him, the warmth of Hanna’s hands in his. 

Kar’aas loves Hanna, and it is his favorite feeling. For Hanna is not perfect, but he might as well be, because he fits so nicely into the curve of Kar’aas’ side, because his hands curve so elegantly around Kar’aas’ jaw, because his heart matches the same beat of Kar’aas’ own when they kiss, warm and sweet and content with the knowledge that this is theirs.

This is theirs.

And Kar’aas knows he is not perfect, that his faults are many. But Hanna loves him anyways, soft as his hands press against Kar’aas’ chest, and his head dips into the curve of Kar’aas’ neck to lay. Hanna loves him anyways, when Kar’aas pulls at his hair in frustration, and Hanna’s soothing hands take them, bring to his mouth to _kiss_. Hanna loves him anyways, as he fits himself against Kar’aas’ chest at night, falls asleep holding Kar’aas’ hand, cold feet pressed to his shins.

Kar’aas falls in love often, over and over and over again. And though once for many things, for fleeting lines and passing faces, it’s now for a constant.

Kar’aas falls in love often with one man, over and over and over again.

And why would he give that up?


	13. ill tell you all ive wanted to say if you tell me all yours in turn

“Talk to me,” Hanna says, when he sits with Kar’aas’ head in his lap and his fingers scratching at the unshaven stubble on his face. “Tell me things.” Kar’aas snorts, and Hanna stares down at him with a smile creasing at his eyes. “Tell me words in Qunlat.”

“There’s not a lot to tell you,” Kar’aas grins. “Pretty boring language. Pretty boring people. Glad I don’t follow it.” He lifts his hand up and pats Hanna softly on his jaw, pulls at his ear just _barely_. Hanna pinches his nose in retaliation, then brushes callus fingers over sun-kissed freckles. 

“But it’s your first language, yes?” Hanna’s voice is considerably quiet, but _oh so tender_. Kar’aas pulls Hanna’s hand from where it scratches at his jaw, and presses a soft kiss to the worn palm. “I won’t make you speak in it, but-” Hanna pulls Kar’aas’ hand towards his mouth and kisses, a return of the favor. “It’s another part of you. I want to know more about it.”

Kar’aas twists his head and presses another kiss to Hanna’s stomach, but mostly to the soft fabric of the shirt Hanna is wearing. “You’re gross,” Kar’aas mumbles, but he’s smiling. “So sappy. Couldn’t be me.”

“That’s a load of shit if I’ve ever heard,” Hanna deadpans, and Kar’aas’ laugh is _stunning_. Kar’aas lifts his head and draws Hanna’s forward, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth before returning to his previous spot. Hanna’s hands find themselves carding through sandy curls, and Kar’aas traces his fingers across Hanna’s arms in secure rhythm.

Kar’aas hums. “Tell you what,” he decides, glancing up at Hanna. His eyelashes flutter against his cheekbones when he blinks. “I’ll tell you some words. No questions, though. I’m a very strict teacher.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Only for you, sweetheart.” Kar’aas closes his eyes for a long moment, and there’s a purr in soft silence of the room. Hanna brushes hair behind Kar’aas’ horns, traces the shell of his ear with his fingertips. “ _Asala_.”

“ _Asala_?” Hanna breathes. 

Kar’aas cracks one of his eyes open and bats at Hanna’s face. “I said no questions,” he grouses, but there’s no malice to it. Just pure, unrestrained warmth. Hanna’s heart stutters, he thinks. 

“I literally _just_ repeated the word. I hate you.”

Kar’aas taps his nose, and his chest clenches as he stares at Hanna. “Hm. No, I really don’t think you do. Besides, it’s all in the inflection.” Kar’aas turns his head again, presses his forehead against Hanna’s stomach, and lowers his hands to his own chest. “ _Asala_ means soul,” he says. “Okay. Next one; _Kost._ ”

“ _Kost_ ,” Hanna says, and the back of his hand brushes along the side of Kar’aas’ face.

Kar’aas smiles. “Peace,” He says. “ _Shanedan_.” He doesn’t wait for Hanna to repeat before explaining. “It’s… like a greeting. It means ‘I’ll hear you.’ It's.. all very blunt.” Hanna brushes his thumb along the inside of Kar’aas’ ear.

“ _Shanedan._ ”

Kar’aas laughs a little, and Hanna stares at him wide-eyed and questioning. “You’re not getting the accent right,” He explains. “It’s alright though. I don’t have the right accent for common. Words sound heavier when I say them.”

Hanna bristles a little, though, tweaks the tip of his ear. “Shut up. I like your voice.”

“Thank you,” Kar’aas says. “All the more reason to annoy you with it. At this point, you’ll have to make me shut up,” Kar’aas challenges, and Hanna’s eyes are shining. Kar’aas loves him _so much_ , his heart aches and his cheeks flush. How wonderful this man is, how tenderhearted he makes Kar’aas. Kar’aas does not believe in a god, but if he did he think Hanna would have been crafted by that god’s hands personally. That they would have been made two seperate and whole souls, bound and better together. Kar’aas thinks he could write poetry about Hanna, about the way his smile pulls at the corner of his eyes and shows off the crows feet there. Kar’aas _has_ written poetry about that. Hanna, ever oblivious to Kar’aas’ inner musings, grins, and kisses him.

  
  


“I still think that can’t be comfortable, having to sit like that,” Hanna laments. Kar’aas sits with his knees to his chest in a metal tub filled with warm water. Hanna cards soap through Kar’aas’ hair, pulling bubbles through the white-blond strands, heavy with water and curled tighter through humidity. z

“It’s not terrible,” Kar’aas says. “I am used to it by now.” Hanna only hums, and pulls Kar’aas’ head back so he can rinse the soap from his hair. “I am just very big. Sometimes I don’t fit through doorways, or I duck under ceilings. Sometimes it is frustrating, like when I have to sit down to kiss you, or my legs fall off the bed.” 

“I admit, being so much shorter than you has it’s… disadvantages,” Hanna says, and there’s a small bitterness at the edge of his voice. Hanna likes to tell him often that he's average height for a human. Kar’aas just thinks he’s cute. “Do you want the conditioner?” Hanna asks, a change of subject, and Kar’aas shakes his head.

“I’m running low, and my hair is fine for now,” He says, then tilts his head even farther back so he can look Hanna in his eyes. “Thank you. For washing my hair. For… doing things like this for me. I appreciate it, _kadan._ ”

“Of course,” Hanna assures, and his voice goes soft around the edges as he brushes strings of wet hair from Kar’aas’ cheek. “I like taking care of you.”

“You’re sweet,” Kar’aas replies. “Go stand in the hallway, for a minute. While I change,” Kar’aas requests, a soft interlude to their conversation. Hanna leaves, and Kar’aas stands, dries the water from him until his hair is just damp, and his clothes do not stick when he redresses in an off-white shirt that’s fraying at the edges. He opens the door to the Hallway, and Hanna greets him with a smile.

They’re silent, mostly, as they get ready for bed. They’d already brushed their teeth, and Hanna makes quick work of braiding Kar’aas’ hair. Kar’aas falls under covers, and Hanna joins him, turning until him and Kar’aas are eye to eye.

“So, tell me,” Hanna starts, and Kar’aas shifts his head until damp hair is pressed under Hanna’s jaw, curled close. Hanna moves a hand, shifting so he can smooth his hand over Kar’aas’ hair, a repetitive motion. “What _kadan_ means.You didn’t bring it up with the others, but you call me it so often.”

Kar’aas kisses Hanna’s shoulder, presses quick nip of his teeth there, and then shifts, just enough, so that he is pressing Hanna’s hand to his heart, and his own hand to Hanna’s. Kar’aas’ heart beats quick, fast, and he wonders if Hanna can feel it. How easily his heart beats for him, how pretty the sound is of them both being alive, here, in this moment. 

“This will be… Embarrassing, maybe. What it means. It’s... Qunlat does not have a lot of endearments,” he says, voice soft as a whisper. “But there is one. And it’s my favorite one,” Kar’aas presses a kiss to Hanna’s adam’s apple. “It means ‘where the heart lies.’” Kar’aas presses Hanna’s hand harder against his chest, just above his beating heart. “I use it,” Kar’aas says, voice hauntingly halting. “Because it’s true.”

Hanna wants to cry.

He presses a hard kiss to Kar’aas’ brow, right between his horns, and then pulls his head further up until he can kiss him, sweet and sad and happy and _in love_.

“Hey, _Dulaanmaa,_ ” Hanna starts, and it’s meant so much lately now that Kar’aas knows what it means. “I love you.”

Kar’aas kisses him again. “ _Kadan,_ ” he says, breath ghosting against Hanna’s lips. “I love you, too.”


	14. reverence

**Kar’aas could not pinpoint the moment he knew that he was in love.** That this is where he would want to stay. Broken bread, a peace offering, kind words as he settled on the hard ground, dirt beneath his feet and hands. The brush of fingers as they press cloth to an open wound, whispering reassurances against the clammy skin of a pale forehead. Desperate confessions against desperate kiss-stained lips, promise of today and tomorrow. Waking up to drool on Hanna’s chin, his eyes squinting against the sun shining blindspots through the curtains, their foreheads pressed together, their noses bumped, a goodmorning whispered like confessional before Hanna shoves him out of bed to brush his teeth. 

He could not pinpoint the moment he knew that he was in love, but did it matter? Because as far as he was concerned, what mattered was that he loved Hanna _now_ , that he could wake up to his early-morning grumblings, listen as he hums something low on his breath was he goes about brushing his hair, crows an old song at the top of his lungs as he 

pulls a comb through Kar’aas’s hair. “I love you,” Kar’aas says one morning, as warmth dripped from his lips and spilled sunlight through Hanna’s heart. 

Hanna stared at him, the halo of golden hair flyaways and the holiness of the blush upon his cheeks, and answered back in reverence.

“I love you too.”


	15. ill hang the moon if you hang the stars

“You’re okay?” Hanna asks, hands firm where they cup Kar’aas’ cheeks. Kar’aas hums, leans up halfway to kiss him, and Hanna leans down to answer. Hanna thinks that the only nice thing about bandaging his boyfriend up means that they’re on equal footing. He doesn’t need to stand on his tiptoes just to press a kiss to his jaw.

When they part Kar’aas’ hand trails up from Hanna’s neck to the grey that has begun sprouting from his temples. “Never better,” he breathes, and dips his head down to press his forehead to the curve of Hanna’s neck. “Thank you. It got a little scary there, near the end.” 

Hanna’s hands come around to weave themselves in the long ghostly hair that falls down Kar’aas’ back, and takes a deep intake of breath. Grounding techniques. It’s okay. Kar’aas is here, and that’s okay. That’s good. “Yeah. I- Yeah, it did. I was scared.”

“I’m here, _kadan_.” Kar’aas murmurs, and presses a soft kiss to Hanna’s clavicle. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Hanna says, and then presses his mouth between Kar’aas’ horns. Not quite kissing but. A weight. A reminder. “I love you,” He says, and he’s gotten a lot better at saying it lately. Hanna… Hanna shows it, often, as best as he can, but sometimes the words still come through as a lump of jumbled thoughts in his throat, and it takes Kar’aas’ coaxing for the words to unstick themself. 

Kar’aas smiles against Hanna’s skin, nips at a spot on his neck, an old bruise just fading. “I love you.” Hanna trails his hands to Kar’aas’ shoulders and pushes, separating himself.

“Alright, alright. Get up here, you big lug.”

Kar’aas is still smiling, canine fang caught peeking over his bottom lip. Hanna… well, Hanna is enamoured, in ways he thought he could never be, could never have the _chance_ to be. There’s so much he never thought he’d get to have, let alone with _Kar’aas,_ and his heart aches. It was… Absolutely mortifying to see Kar’aas go down in battle. See the lowlife thug drive the dagger through his chest, watch him crumple to the ground, still breathing and ragged, the acrid smell of burnt flesh and mana coursing through the air as Kar’aas stumbled to perform a healing spell on himself; Hanna trying to take care of the rest of the perpetrators as quickly as he could, only _Kar’aas_ and _hurt_ on his mind.

And Kar’aas is still here, staring at him as if he has hung the moon and stars with his own hands, doe-eyed and love-drunk, pupils dilated as if he can not get enough of just _looking_ at Hanna- well. Hanna knows that feeling well.

“Hey,” Hanna says, and Kar’aas’ grin blossoms.

“Hi,” he echoes, cheeks ruddy from the remnants of a fight, eyes wild and blown and hair unkempt and caught dancing primal in the lamplight. Hanna _adores_ him.

“I want to- I… I want to ask you something,” Hanna says, and the words feel thick on his tongue. Kar’aas tilts his head and his hands press against Hanna’s chest, trail up until they curl around his jaw, scratching lightly at the stubble there.

“Ask away,” Kar’aas says, confident as always, though his eyes shine confused. 

“I was… You are… You are the sun,” Hanna says, and Kar’aas wastes no time before answer in succession;

“And you are the moon,” Quiet and instinctual.

Hanna smiles, leans his head just a _little_ more into Kar’aas’ hold. “You are bright, and shining, and something to behold. Sometimes, I feel I might go blind just by looking at you.” Kar’aas snorts, and Hanna grins. “I… truly, I never thought I would ever find someone like you.”

“Like me?” Kar’aas asks, and his eyes shine in the lamplight. 

“You are kind, and patient, and you see the best in so much. And you Love me.”

“I _really_ do.” Kar’aas says, smile soft, and Hanna feels his heart _ache_. 

“So I- well, I just wanted to- I don’t have a ring.”

Kar’aas’ eyes go wide, and his smile slips off his face, truly shocked. “A r-” 

“Shush, _dulaanmaa,_ ” Hanna urges. “I don’t have a ring and I don’t- I know that I’m not great husband material, but I realised that there’s… no one else I’d want to spend my life with. That I want to spend the rest of my life with _you_ even if you're dramatic and wear socks in bed and you’re too reckless in fights and scare me half to death. I _want_ to be able to know I care so much about you that I _am_ scared when you get hurt. I know it’s not great timing, but I don’t know if there ever will be a good time. Sometimes you just need to _go_ for it. And I want to, so very badly. I want to with _you_.” He takes a deep breath. Kar’aas is staring at him, tears tracked down his face, pupils blown and wild like an animal, cheeks ruddy and neck flushed, still recovering from his injuries, still staring at Hanna as if he were something to _behold._

His hands weave into Kar’aas’ hair, infinitesimal. He’s compared Kar’aas to Andraste before, blasphemic and reverential, but this time he is sure Kar’aas might be Andraste incarnate, beautiful and untamed and worth fighting for. The lamplight makes a halo of flyaway hairs behind Kar’aas’ head, and each freckles across his face screams starlight. Hanna is scared, of _course_ he’s scared, but- “Will you marry me?”

“Oh you- I- '' Kar'aas pulls him forward into a kiss, hard and chaste, his fingertips pressing into his cheekbones. When he pulls away his hands drop and his face is flushed, eyes darting. “First of all, you _are_ husband material, you stupid, unbearable man. Second; I can not _believe_ this I had- Maker’s balls Hanna I had everything planned out and you’re just gonna? I- You impulsive little-”

“It’s not impulsive,” Hanna says, though his voice sounds meek and puzzled.

“No, I know, but I mean you just- I look _terrible_ Hanna- I’ve bled half to death and you think you can-” Kar’aas groans, runs his fingers through his hair, then kisses Hanna once more for good measure.

“I’m very confused right now,” Hanna says when they part, and Kar’aas pushes Hanna’s cheeks together, his face scrunched up.

“You are wonderful and amazing and I think the best person I have ever known and I love you _so_ much it hurts and I can not even _BELIEVE_ you beat me to a proposal when I am _injured_ nonetheless even though I have had it planned for _WEEKS_ you unbearably soft-hearted man.”

“Does that mean yes?”

“Does th- What do you think?”

“That you’re putting me through one weird emotional ride.”

“I- Oh, sorry, I mean. Yes? Of course, in what world would I _not_ say yes?”

“Oh.”

Kar’aas giggles. “ _Oh._ ” He lets go of Hanna’s face. “I need to- the ring I need to go find your ring I’m so- I can't believe you ruined _my_ proposal you are just- I love you.”

Hanna laughs, grabs Kar’aas’ wrist before he can wander away. “Hey,” Hanna thinks he might be crying a little. “I love you.”

Kar’aas smiles, turns back around to smooth his hand across the side of Hanna’s face, tucks a bit of grey behind his ear. “I know,” He says, a calm in the middle of a frenzied whirlwind. “You gave me a whole speech earlier,” Kar’aas murmurs. “Let me return the favor?”

“You’re trying to one-up my proposal?”

“You already did that to mine.”

Hanna laughs, a short bark of air. “That’s fair.” A pause. “It’s not a give and take. You know that, right? I said those things because I wanted to. It’s not a transaction.”

Kar’aas leans down to kiss Hanna’s forehead, then trails his hands down to hold Hanna’s own. “I know. I still want to, though.” He leans to one knee and it’s _stupid_ and _mundane_ and Kar’aas knows he has never met someone he loves this much, so achingly and breathtakingly whole. “You are frustrating sometimes. And I know I am too. We don’t always see eye-to-eye, and we are.. Admittedly, we are very different people. But it’s _worth_ it.” Kar’aas stares at their hands, Hanna’s now cupped in his. “It’s so worth it,” his voice is like church bells. “Waking up next to you, knowing you’ll be there to brush and braid my hair, and I’ll be there to button up your shirt. Hearing you hum words I can’t understand to a song I don’t know while you go about your day. We _chose_ each other, Hanna, and I think about that so _much._ I am my own person, and you are your own as well, but I could not think of anyone I would rather share that with- Once upon a time I had resigned myself to nothing more then longing looks and heartfelt letters and now, _kadan_? I love you. I really, really love you.”

“You’re gross,” Hanna says, but it comes out broken and his face is gross, ruddy and red and scrunched up from crying and Kar’aas _adores_ him.

“I know,” he says, and stands up, kissing him hard and frantic and sickeningly in love. “Husband,” Kar’aas murmurs when they part, staring as golden light reflects back in Hanna’s brown eyes. “I could get used to that.”

“Good.”


	16. through thick and thin i adore you

It was just a group of raiders. Some half-drunk thugs camped out on a sundermount pass, intent on killing them for their belongings, and a sick intent to take down an illusive ‘ox-man.’ They’ve dealt with them before. Usually there’s not this many of them, usually they aren’t armed so well, usually they don’t have a _mage-_ they’ve dealt with raiders and worse before, but they were off their game that night. Kar’aas was tired and Hanna was _cold_ -

Kar’aas is a protector. He’s reckless in fights, nothing but his staff and the frost that collects at his fingertips, but he’s a warrior first and foremost, taught how to hurt and soothe and tear and mend. He puts others before himself, like some sort of holy duty, like it’s in his _veins_ , like he is always worth less then whoever is beside him.

Or; Like his worth is correlated to his ability to _protect_ , to save and cherish. When Hanna is beside him, he fights closer than he should, bursts of ice against chests where his palms meet, a punch thrown into the jaw of a sword-wielding woman, a heavy hit with his staff as he prays to _whoever_ that it doesnt break in two again. Hanna is beside him and there is a dagger being driven into his side and the yelp he lets out- Kar’aas is _scared._

There’s so much blood and he’s a _protector_ who didn’t protect, who watches as the love of his life lurches forward and then.

Usually he keeps under control. Usually it doesn’t _matter_ that she watches, because he doesn’t need her. He’s good at cutting her flow of magic from his own. He’s good at not going too far, because he doesn’t want to hurt her. She just wants to watch, and he doesn’t want her to _corrupt_ , and it’s been so long since-

Hanna stands up, a hand clutching his side where the dagger had _twisted_ , watching. Usually, he’d grit through the pain and finish taking out the raiders but there's a white light from the middle of the makeshift battlefield, and Kar’aas’ eyes are blank.

There's no pupils, no iris, only a blue glow that illuminates his face, that seems to thrum under his skin, and then the light _bursts_ and Kar’aas-

Hanna has never seen him like this. He stares wide-eyed at the way he moves, like he is anger personified, like there is nothing _human_ left, only something unbridled and unleashed, and the last raider goes down. Kar’aas looks like Andraste’s been described, thinks Hanna, blinding and ethereal and something _holy_. Something the Maker would cherish.

Hanna watches him. He _watches_ him, his Kar’aas, watches the light die but still present, watches the heaving of his chest and the staff clenched in his hand, heavy as he leans his weight on it.

Kar’aas is not a slight man, but in the middle of a group of bodies laying on the floor, hair blown every which way by the wind and a glow in his eyes disappointing as he makes such a _hurt_ panicked noise- he looks so _small_.

It’s a long while of Hanna holding his side to stifle bleeding and just _staring_ before he sees the violet of Kar’aas’s eyes, his pupils blown so wide and _scared._ Kar’aas’ head snaps to meet Hanna’s gaze, and he walks forward carefully, like prey to a predator. Like Hanna may _hurt_ him, and Hanna feels something unidentified crumble in his chest. Kar’aas doesn't say anything, refusing to look him in the eyes. A large palm removes Hanna’s hands from his side, and then there is magic pressed into his side. Kar’aas doesn’t know much healing, but he can _help_. Make it more like a graze and less like a stab. 

When he’s done, Kar’aas takes a step back, tries to retreat. There are tears in his eyes, and he still looks like something is going to happen, that he has done something _wrong_ , and Hanna has nothing for him but love and kindness and _questions._

Hanna wraps his hands around Kar’aas’ arm, and refuses to let go, refuses to let him run. They’re done running. From the bad and the good and _each other_. There will be no running. Hanna steps forward, fits himself directly under Kar’aas’s line of sight so he is forced to _look_. Kar’aas is still hunched over, and Hanna presses a hand to his cheek. Kar’aas flinches, murmurs a “please don’t” in a voice that is hoarse and breaking. 

“Are you hurt?” Hanna asks, and refuses to think about the way his chest flutters as the setting sun halos Kar’aas’s curls. Kar’aas shakes his head, and then he withdraws himself carefully from Hanna, and goes to pick his staff up. He doesn’t talk, and Hanna thinks that’s what unsettles him the most. 

Hanna builds the camp that night. Kar’aas removes dinner from his pack, and he is silent as he cooks it over the small fire, sits across from Hanna instead of beside him. Hanna had complained before about Kar’aas constantly pressing close to Hanna, arms around his waist or around his shoulders, head tucked in the curve of Hanna’s neck, constantly chattering about something he had seen that day, but he never thought- It’s _wrong_ , that Kar’aas is acting like this.

Kar’aas is looking wherever Hanna _isn’t_. He doesn’t think he can handle looking at him, doesn’t know if he can face whatever is held there. He hunches over himself, stares at his hands, red and aching as they are. Healing always leaves his hands cracked and blistered, but knowing that Hanna is okay- he’s _safe-_ is worth it. 

Kar’aas knows he should make an effort. He’s being unreasonable, and he’s hurting himself and probably _Hanna._ He stares at the ring snug on his finger- they aren’t married yet, aren’t _husbands_ , but they will be. They were going to be. He hopes they still will be. He promised to be better than this. He _needs_ to be better than this. He’s just. He’s scared. He is _so_ fucking scared.

“ _Dulaanmaa_ ,” Hanna calls from across the fire, and like an ingrained response, he flits his eyes over to find Hanna looking at him. He realises vaguely that he’s crying, that his shoulders shake, and Hanna looks worried. Kar’aas feels _too_ _much_. “Kar’aas, can we talk?” Hanna’s voice is so soft, like Kar’aas may break, and that isn’t _fair_.

Kar’aas is a protector. What good is a protector who needs protecting?

“I’m sorry,” Kar’aas croaks, and Hanna stands from his side of the fire, and walks closer. 

“You?” Hanna asks, in mock surprise. “Apologizing? We both know I’m the needless apologizer in this relationship, Kar.” He taps the side of his foot against Kar’aas’ thigh. “Uncross your legs,” He orders, but it sounds more like a question. Kar’aas does so, hands shaking when he runs them through his hair. “Can I sit?” Hanna asks, and Kar’aas hesitates which- okay, kinda hurts a little, and also kinda scares him. He offers a tired smile instead. Kar’aas nods, finally, and Hanna sits between Kar’aas’ legs, facing him. He bends his legs over Kar’aas’ own, and cups Kar’aas’ face gently. Kar’aas still looks mildly panicked, and Hanna pulls his head down to settle in the dip of Hanna’s shoulders. Kar’aas’ breath hitches, and then like a dam breaking, he wraps his arms around Hanna and presses close, shoulders shaking.

“I’m so sorry,” Kar’aas says again, and Hanna moves his arms to wrap under Kar’aas’ own. 

“Mind telling me what happened?” Hanna asks, and Kar’aas freezes. 

“I don’t want to scare you off,” Kar’aas murmurs into Hanna’s neck, and that prompts an honest to andraste shock of laughter from Hanna. His arm pets down Kar’aas’ back, soft and soothing.

“Sweetheart, if I could be scared so easily I wouldn’t have stayed past the first time you tried to kiss me with morning breath.” There’s a beat of silence after Hanna’s joke, and he deflates a little. Kar’aas moves impossible closer and tries to ignore how raw the corners of his eyes feel from the tears. “Don’t shut me out, _dulaanmaa_ ,” Hanna tries again.

“I’m not just me,” Kar’aas says, and Hanna’s brows furrow in confusion. “There’s- please hear me out. Until I completely explain.” Kar’aas doesn’t look up from Hanna’s shoulder. “When I was thirteen, I made a deal with a fade spirit-” Hanna _tenses_ , becomes rigid in Kar’aas’ arms, but he doesn't move. His hands grip into Kar’aas’ shirt.

“Her name is compassion. I don’t- I can’t _talk_ to her, not unless I dream in the fade, but I can feel her, sometimes.She’s not… I’m not an abomination. I’m not _possessed_. Through me, she can experience the world and she can. She chose me because I’m _kind,_ and I wanted to help her. I felt special. She protects me, and I can control what help she gives me. I protect her and me from corruption. I’m _good_ at protecting. I’m a protector. I- that's what I;m good for, is protecting.” Hanna’s tension is releasing, and Kar’aas doesn’t know if it’s a good or a bad thing. “I can control it, usually but I-” Kar’aas pulls back, rests his forehead on Hanna’s own. “You make things complicated,” Kar’aas breathes. “It’s harder to stay composed when it’s you.”

“So you- did she take over?” Hanna asks, still wary. Just slightly- it’s… it’s _so much_ that Kar’aas told him. Every memorized chant and repressed idolization of religion tells him this is _dangerous_ \- this is something amage would be made tranquil for. Kar’aas has told him about tranquilization before, and he presses his hands to the back of Kar’aas’ neck, clutches onto chunks of blonde hair because he _never_ wants that to happen to him. So what if his fiance is… some sort of host for a spirit. Vessel? Anchor? He doesn’t know the word to use. It doesn’t matter. So what? He’s still his Kar’aas. His big dumb vashoth qunari who towers over him and bites Hanna’s neck when he’s bored and wants attention, and makes fun of him for reading when they’re nestled in bed and- this is _Kar’aas._

“No,” Kar’aas says. “I’m still myself. It was just the magic that wasn’t mine.” he pauses for a second, then, “I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing, your insufferable giant.”

“For not telling you sooner. And for not being normal. And for not protecting you.” And for so much there, but Kar’aas feels like he may cry if he keeps the list going.

“I don’t need to be protected,” Hanna says, and Kar’aas would call it stubborn if it wasn’t what he needed to hear. “And you’re telling me now. It’s.. I’ll admit it’s a bit weird. I’ve never met anyone that’s had this happen, which.. Isn’t saying a lot.” He sighs. “All I know about magic is what the Chantry teaches, and what you’ve shown me,” Hanna says. “So I will ask you this once; You have it under control?”

“Yes,” Kar’aas breathes. “If I didn’t I’d leave. I couldn’t endanger you.”  
“You’re very dramatic when you’re serious,” Hanna murmurs. Then, “I trust you. If you say it’s okay, then I trust you, Kar’aas. I love you.”

And Kar’aas sobs at that, kisses Hanna, and it’s _gross-_ it’s so, so gross because they just ate, and Kar’aas is still crying, and Hanna still tastes like he’s halfway to death from the healing stab wound in his side. But it’s okay.

It’s fine.

So what if Hanna’s soon-to-be-husband has a spirit inside him? So what if he’s got a half-formed savior complex? He loves him, and really, that’s what matters. It scares him, how much he loves him. More than the spirit ever could or would, because Hanna has quickly come to find that he loves so _consumingly_. That he’d do anything for Kar’aas, to _protect_ Kar’aas, to make him happy.

Maybe he has a half-formed savior complex, too. Only for Kar’aas. Or maybe that’s just love.

“I love you, too,” Kar’aas croaks.

Yeah. 

Maybe it’s love.


End file.
